Why Greens need blue blazers

One of my childhood friends, Karl Warkomski, is the
first and only elected Green Party member in ultra-right-wing
Orange County, Calif. Orange County — home to the mega-hawk
and former congressman "B2 Bob" Dornan — is a place where
people get misty eyed remembering the Reagan presidency.

So how in the world did Karl get elected?

He dresses like
an investment banker. Clothes, as they say, make the man.

"When I give a speech or go to a meeting, I basically emulate
Brooks Brothers," says Karl. "I grab the most boring item in my
closet, put on khakis and loafers and a collegiate tie. And I
never, ever forget my flag pin."

Never forget your flag
pin: It’s a lesson the Green Party’s candidates should
take to heart. Until they do, they are doomed to the margins of
American politics.

The Greens, bless their authentic and
earnest hearts, are my soul mates. But I invariably cringe when I
see a Green candidate, for most seem not to understand that
politics is about appearances. Greens may not care about power
ties, but the rest of America does.

I’m not picking
on the Green Party. I want it to grow up to be big and strong so
that it can be just like the other bona fide parties: moderate,
indistinguishable and hopelessly compromised by pandering to
special interest money.

Just kidding! I want the Greens
to have a fighting chance in the 2004 elections, and to do this
they need a makeover. Today, when Joe Sixpack thinks of Greens he
imagines people who look like Ted Kaczynski in Jesus shoes. Ralph
Nader wasn’t bearded or Birkenstocked, but that rumpled suit
surely cost him a few votes.

"When the average voter sees
a contingent of Greens they just assume they’re on their way
to Woodstock," Karl sighs. He’s getting lonely in office.
He’d like some like-minded, well-dressed company.

Remember when the Al Gore campaign hired feminist Naomi Wolf as a
consultant, and she dressed the vice president in earth tones? He
became fodder for late-night comics. This, in combination with some
hanging chads, may have cost him the presidency. Have you ever seen
George W. Bush in a mauve cardigan and open-toed shoes? Have you
noticed that he’s the president? Coincidence? Methinks not.

I once wore a navy blue suit, pearls, pantyhose and pumps
to a wedding in New Mexico. Most of the other guests were in
T-shirts and baggy black jeans. By the end of the evening people I
didn’t know were addressing me respectfully as "senator."

This led to my Blue-Blazer Theory of Political
Achievement: Clothes, especially preppy clothes, can get you
elected even if you are a Wiccan marijuana farmer. For those of you
in the Wrangler-clad West who may not know, "preppy" is a style of
dress characterized by inane color schemes featuring pink and
green, cutesy motifs such as whales, sailboats, wee polo players,
cuffed khaki pants, monogramming and incredibly ugly shoes worn,
inexplicably, without socks.

To qualify as preppy you no
longer have to be a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant and you need not
have attended Phillips Exeter Academy in the East. You need only to
order regularly from the L.L. Bean catalog. The goal is to look
perpetually as if you are going golfing, sailing or to play tennis.

Politicos must emulate clean-cut preppies, not the
sultry, tousled-hair preps in the Ralph Lauren ads. Real political
candidates have barbers. Have you ever seen a presidential wannabe
with come-hither bed head? (True, there was Gary Hart, but we all
know what happened to his career.)

Green Party
candidates, listen up: Hold your nose, and don a blue blazer and
button-down shirt. Soon, people will be shaking your hand, handing
you babies and stuffing endorsement checks into your pockets. At
the moment, L.L. Bean does not make a vegetable-dyed,
pesticide-free organic cotton or hemp Oxford cloth shirt with
shade-grown solar buttons. But you can wear your recycled-tire
underwear made by indigenous peoples beneath those pressed khakis,
and no one at the debates will be the wiser.

So Greenies,
until America becomes less pretentious — this is expected to
happen when the sun goes supernova — your party needs to
trade in its tie-dye for gray flannel trousers and a nice,
pink-pinstriped shirt. It is the uniform that opens doors to power.

And pink and green is an excellent color combination.

Lou Bendrick worries about things political in
Great Barrington, Massachusetts.